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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193447">The Moon and The Tower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95'>TawnyOwl95</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Former Sex Worker Crowley, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Monster Aziraphale, Moon Fairy Aziraphale, Shapeshifting, So are the demons, The Archangels are horrible, Witness Protection, Wives Discord Gift Exchange 2020, cw for minor character death, it's a fairy tale, minor CW for past sexual abuse, not graphic, there's a happy ending though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley didn't think she still had the courage to fall in love or allow anyone to love her back. </p><p> She’s tired of being afraid though. And tired of being alone. </p><p>And if you can be bold (be bold, but not too bold) you can damn well make sure your dreams come true.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Waxing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/gifts">D20Owlbear</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gift fic for the Wives Discord Server Gift Exchange.  </p><p>The prompt was- Any sort of AU in which the ineffable spouses are human but still have magic or supernatural connections. </p><p>I took the vaguest one I could and then went feral with it.  I hope it's OK. </p><p>Thank you to CousinSerena for reading first.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley had slept a lot when she lived in London.  It was an escape that was both cheap and safe, and would fill her time between dancing and seeing clients. Towards the end, she’d always been more tired in London too. Her senses had been wrapped up in a thick, noise muffling blanket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now that she’d found somewhere she felt safer, sleep was a sharp, fractured thing. The countryside was too quiet, the night sky was too clear. There was nowhere to hide.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley took a glass of water into the garden and climbed into the hammock she’d hung between the apple tree and a post she'd hammered into the ground. A slither of waxing moon sailed high  in the sky, sharp and curved. There was enough light to wash the garden and undulating fields beyond in a silver sheen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley lay back, rocking the hammock gently with one long leg hung over the side so her bare toes could tickle the grass. The night was peaceful, and if she were patient she might be able to absorb that. The sweat on her skin began to dry and the bird-wing flutter of her heart slowed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been the right thing to come out here. It had been the right thing to slip out onto the fire escape of her London flat when the moon was hidden, her savings split between both boots, her bag and the seams of her coat. She’d been lucky, she’d had help and the cost of the deposit on the rented cottage had been worth the expense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hadn’t everyone told her recovery would take time? Weren’t they still telling her that? Doctor Pulsifer and DS Device both?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water in Crowley's glass was cool as the moonlight, filling her mouth and her belly. She lay still, limbs heavy. Her eyes drifted closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something unsettling grew in the air.  Crowley sat up.  She’d never have survived as long as she had if she couldn’t tell when something was off. The air was still, even the leaves in the apple tree held their breath.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bells in the distant church spire rang, ghostly in the newly born silence.  Midnight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a shimmer out in the fields beyond the cottage garden, just where meadow rolled into the tree line. Crowley blinked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The howl ripped through the quiet like a strike of claws. Crowley tumbled from the hammock, water glass skittering over the lawn. She got herself on hands and knees, automatically going to sweep the curls from her face before remembering she’d cut all her hair off as soon as she’d left London. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Safer that way. Then if she was found she couldn't let her braids down, even if she wanted to.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dogs barked. Crowley scrambled to her feet, squinting over the hedge at the dark blur of shapes in the meadow that sloped down from the church and towards her garden hedge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d never liked dogs. All the ones she’d met had been bullied into violence.  Heart thumping, Crowley took a half step back.  She stopped when she saw what the dogs were chasing.   A streak of silver through the long grass, cutting back and forth. Its turns were quick and frantic.  The three dogs curved wide, tumbling over each other each time the smaller animal changed direction.  Overhead a hawk circled lazily, dipping its wings to keep an eye on the chase. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley knew what it was like to be hunted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” Crowley whispered to the silver rabbit as it slalomed down the slope. “Come on.” It was hard to tell from the erratic path that it took, but it was heading towards Crowley’s hedge.  She ran to the back porch, hand closing around the handle of the shovel. Wasn’t so long since Crowley had run for her life, and she’d had help then.  Only right to return the favour, wasn’t it? She hefted the shovel, making it back to the hedge as the silver rabbit burst out from underneath it in a puff of loose leaves and earth.  Not a rabbit. Ridiculously fluffy in it’s wide-eyed panic, but the back legs that kicked at the ground were long and strong.  The face was soft cheeked, but with a pointed nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hare then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dogs sent up a whine that shot straight to Crowley’s guts.  She nearly ran again. The hare skidded to a halt behind her, front legs spread and ears swept back along the curve of its spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley had anger and fear in abundance, she directed it now, lifting her shovel as the first dog leapt over the hedge. She caught it’s shoulder, the impact richoteting down her arm.  Knocked off course, the dog’s legs kicked out as it landed. It’s claws scrambled for purchase as it twisted upright. Crowley blinked. It was a dog. Definitely a dog. For a moment it had looked like a man, all furious eyes and bared teeth, one of which glinted gold in the moonlight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley screamed. Her rage spilled out of her as she stepped forward putting herself back between the dog and the hare. The dog, definitely a dog, still definitely a dog, backed away, ruff bristling.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley hefted the shovel again. A raptor's shriek pierced the night air and the dog’s head turned. It growled, pink gums dripping saliva. It jumped back over the hedge in an instant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley dropped the shovel.  She swayed and sank slowly to one knee.  Her temples throbbed.  When her racing pulse had settled she looked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hare had vanished. There were no dogs in the meadow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Crowley gasped into the still, undisturbed night. “Shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She retrieved the shovel, and on unsteady legs poured herself back into the hammock.  The leaves were stirring again.  Crowley closed her eyes, the moonlight sliding across her lids. She sunk into unconsciousness. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had since moving out here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she woke up, her water glass was whole, and still sat, half full, on the garden table where she'd left it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next few days were refreshingly normal. Crowley got the bus to the garden centre on the edge of the village where she relaxed into the damp scent of mulch and the muscle ache of shifting plant stock. She drowned her thoughts in the music flowing through her head phones while she watered the outside displays. It was easy work. Satisfying work making a space for things to grow. And she needed the safety net of that money coming in.  She could live off the near minimum wage while barely digging into her remaining savings.  Didn’t eat much, and didn’t need much in the way of stuff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(As long as all her belongings could fit into that back pack and her wheeled suitcase. Keep an eye on the horizon, just in case. Sometimes that was what the nightmares were. She couldn’t pack quick enough, couldn’t run quick enough.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She still crept out into the garden at night to escape her dreams. Not to check the meadow for phantom dogs. No, not at all. The moon was a waxing quarter now. Sometimes when Crowley kicked back her sheets and peeled her damp skin off the mattress to venture outside she’d lay in the hammock and swear the moonlight was dancing.   There were swirls that looked like they were trying to form a shape in the corner of her eye. It was comforting to watch.  The movement lulled her back to sleep every time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley woke up late one morning heavy eyed and a half forgotten melody melting away in the harsh June sunlight.  The hammock swayed as she sat up, scrubbing the heels of her hands over her face and her nails through her short hair.  It was Wednesday, and that meant a late shift at the garden centre.  Crowley rolled out of the hammock and padded through the backdoor to the cottage’s kitchen.  It was a small, old house, full of creaks and sighs as it relaxed further into its foundations.   The kitchen and living room were open, separated by a slither of a counter.  The back and front doors were practically opposite each other, with the stairs tucked away against a side wall.  Crowley made coffee and took it to the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and pulling out her tarot cards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d never been one for trusting things she couldn’t see, but Tracy had patiently converted her over many slow evenings in the club, and later when they’d met for coffee outside of work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just stories, love. Old, familiar stories that reflect life back at you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Mirror, mirror) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley's smooth, slightly dog eared cards in their silk scarf had been Tracy's once. A going away present, and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>take care of yourself, love, </span>
  </em>
  <span>present.</span>
  <em>
    <span> My number is in there too. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley put down her coffee and untied the scarf. She wiggled her hips and tried not to think as she shuffled the cards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn't magic. She was just looking for some comfort, a pattern, a hint of where she needed to look next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley never had been good at sitting still and relying on other people to do things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cut the deck three times with her left hand. Deep breath. The card now on the top of the deck had a slightly bent edge, the laminat peeling away. Crowley turned it face up as she placed it on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A dog and a wolf, heads thrown back as they howled at an acid green moon. Silver waters licking at a sandy shore with a half submerged, clawed crustacean crawling inevitably onwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monsters from the deep. A fear too primal to take shape. Mystery and madness running wild. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley already struggled with feeling human at the best of times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Hidden in a deerskin cloak while she waited to heal and transform back into a real girl.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed the card back into the deck and went to take a shower. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky was bruised purple with twilight when Crowley finished her shift. The moon rode just above the pale horizon, and a hawk circled high up against the clouds. Crowley shielded her eyes as she tipped her head back. It looked pretty much like any other hawk she'd seen. No need to be suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley got on the bus and curled up against the window, headphones on. She drifted in and out of awareness as the bus wove its way down into the village and the moon rose higher. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd called DS Device on her break. Still no date for Queen Lucy's trial. Crowley would  still have to give evidence. Still anonymous. Yes, of course. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Device was patient but distracted. Sympathetic in an automatic way. She made sure Crowley had all her phone numbers. Her Majesty was still remanded in custody, but her Dukes were still very much at large.  Crowley tried not to think about them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The vibration of the bus engine rocked Crowley's tired brain closer to sleep. She dozed until the hiss of brakes woke her up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not Crowley's stop. They were pulled over on a country lane somewhere so it must be a courtesy stop. Raindrops kissed the window by Crowley's head and the world outside was dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pale woman got on to the bus, closing an umbrella.  Pale clothes, pale skin, pale hair. Crowley sat up straighter, her eyes drawn to the glory of her soft curves.  The woman's hair was beautiful, spun silver curls half tied back and tumbling to her waist.  The full skirt and puffed sleeves of her blouse made her look regal, but even more out of place. As though she was hoping the bus could take her back to 1901.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman swayed as the bus pulled away, reaching out a hand to steady herself. Shining eyes fixed on Crowley and her face lit up in a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley lit up too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late. The bus was full of empty seats. Still, Crowley dragged her bag to the floor so the woman could sit next to her. She half tumbled into the seat as the bus trundled round a corner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Whoops!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A firm thigh pressed against Crowley's as the woman came gently to rest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley had pulled herself so far upright she was practically vertical. There was an odd sluggishness to her brain. It was distantly aware of being asleep, but losing the battle with the rest of Crowley’s senses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman's smile remained luminous. "Hello, dear," she said and offered Crowley a paper bag full of boiled sweets that sparkled like jewels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks, I'm good," Crowley said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Don't eat their food.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bus should go straight from the garden centre, through the village to the church. It avoided all the country roads. Unexpected hedges blurred past the window. This wasn't the route home, but Crowley was more curious than afraid. Everyone else on the bus was still. A tableau of end of day exhaustion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was this her dream? Or someone else's? Not that Crowley hadn't sometimes dreamed of a meet cute with someone who had full lips and kind eyes.  Hair that was luscious and smelled like a summer meadow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Couldn't be magic. Crowley didn't believe in magic. She did trust her instincts though, and, with one very notable exception, they had served her well. There was no prickling of her thumbs, or lifting of the hairs on her neck. She took a deep breath anyway. Just because the woman sitting next to her didn't seem dangerous, didn't mean that she wasn't odd. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s instincts could be trusted because she fed them with observations. She noticed things and wondered what they meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered now why the woman was smiling so hopefully and why her edges seemed so unformed that they shimmered, as though the moonlight was gently washing them away and reforming them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you?" Crowley asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Definitely a what. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman's smile faltered. "I'm a human person. Obviously."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Obviously."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman huffed. Her lips pouted. "Oh bother, what did I get wrong?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So disappointed. The smile that stretched Crowley's mouth was unexpected. "Your clothing is a tad out of date," she conceded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman looked down at herself in horror, as though seeing the antiquated layers of skirt, waistcoat and blouse for the first time. When her eyes met Crowley's again they were upset, but less fearful than they had been that night in Crowley's garden. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley's brain tried to tell her politely, but firmly that it wasn't possible. This woman was not also the hare that had sought refuge in her garden. Crowley's eyes and instincts firmly disagreed. The wide moonlit eyes and silvery, spun cobweb hair were all the evidence needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I really am making a mess of this, aren't I?" The woman forlornly popped a sweet in her mouth and sighed round it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dunno, what were you trying to do?" Crowley still wasn't afraid. She was detached, calm as still water. No liquid terrors trying to find forms beneath her surface. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew exactly what she was afraid of, thank you, and it wasn't this creature that had hijacked the number 6 bus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman's eyes flicked sideways. "I wanted to say thank you and, to, urm, ask a favour."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A favour?" Crowley quirked an eyebrow. It was a good look on her, she knew. Insolently sexy, a little bit dashing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman flushed. Some colour suited her, drew her more into the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may have noticed I’m experiencing some, erm, personal difficulties,” The woman said quietly. Her fingers tore at the corner of the paper bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The dogs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my dear." Terrified eyes turned to Crowley." They aren’t dogs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t. In the same way that the woman before her wasn’t a woman. Or a hare. She was both, and neither and something more besides. Crowley knew this down in her bone marrow. She didn’t yet know why she wasn’t afraid, but, beneath the fluttering fingers and surface level anxiousness, there was a deep, cool steadiness to this creature.  Old and slow to change as time itself. Something Crowley could imagine laying her cheek against so she could just exhale everything that hurt . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dangerous feeling. She had never really believed that anyone could take away her problems. Yet, here she was, prepared to find a way to try and do this for someone else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can come back to mine,” Crowley said, “If you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that wasn’t scary either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creature’s smile was bright as stars. “Oh, thank you. You’ve made it very clear you won’t permit them entry so I should be safe there. I don’t have to come into your house. The garden will be quite sufficient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can come in…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bus wheezed to a halt jolting Crowley awake. The church spire cut a sharp scar though the moonlit sky. Crowley turned around. She was the only passenger left on the bus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her legs wobbled as she walked down the aisle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You OK, mate?" Crowley asked the driver before she braved the spitting rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at her unblinking for a moment. "Ready to get home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aren't we all. Mind how you go." Crowley shouldered her bag and, turning up her collar, began the short jog through the graveyards, across the meadows to her back gate. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Full</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley didn't know what she expected when she got home. She had her key in her hand as she approached the back door. It turned in the lock with a soft thunk.  There were no signs of disturbance to the lock or around the frame, no suspicious scuffs on the path or in the flowerbeds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing was out of place in the cramped little cottage. It was sparsely furnished because Crowley’s abrupt escape had meant she’d left most things in London, not that she wanted them weighing  her down anyway.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(One wheeled suitcase and a backpack. Quick to pack. Easy to shift. Be gone before the clock strikes midnight.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley poured a glass of water and swallowed her tablets. Then she got ready for bed. She sat cross legged on the sofa, a blanket half over her lap and journalled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr Pulsifer had suggested it as part of her therapy. Crowley wasn't confident with words though. At least not stringing them together herself. Her journal was plain paper and she sketched out quotes that she liked, illustrating letters like a fourteenth century monk. She drew too. The cottage, the village, people at the garden centre. Tonight she filled it with pictures of Aziraphale. Quick memory sketches that blossomed into portraits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes got heavy, the charcoal lines blurring. She lay back for a moment, arm resting over her eyes. Just for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"May I join you?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slight burst of nerves to see Aziraphale standing over her.  It made Crowley glad she'd fallen asleep downstairs and not in her bedroom. That would have been too far across her carefully negotiated boundaries with herself. This was OK though. She had chosen this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The costume that Aziraphale had worn on the bus was replaced with a dress that looked woven from the pale beams coming through the windows. White and almost blue, the sleeves nothing more than floating wisps of fabric. Her hair spilled down her back and fell over one prettily curved shoulder. Her perfectly arched feet were bare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want some tea?” Crowley sat up. She needed something to do with her hands. Something to stop her touching. At least until she could work out what this creature wanted. Crowley didn’t turn the light on. That would have chased the moonlight away, and Azirapahle with it.  Her edges were already looking fuzzier in the gloom of the dark, beamed cottage.  Besides, it was a dream. Crowley could see perfectly if she wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, please.” Aziraphale folded her hands over her stomach and tugged on the woven belt at her waist while her eyes drifted about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know what tea is?” Crowley tilted her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, and cake. I know what cake is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t have any of that. Have biscuits.” Crowley kept them for the occasions DS Device visited. Cake could be a possibility though, she supposed. How did dreams work anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you, my dear,  you're very kind."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley mumbled her disagreement, and decided biscuits were easier as she expected to find them in her cupboard.  She made the tea and flopped on her sofa, curling up her legs as she settled with her own mug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale sat on the sofa's other end, knees together and back straight. She sipped her tea, luxuriating in the taste of it. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back slightly. It had taken Crowley a long time and a considerable amount of effort to learn to live in the moment like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She offered the packet of biscuits, wishing she'd thought to put them on a plate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale glowed with delight as she took one from the plate that had helpfully presented itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I do that?” Crowley asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked at the fussy pattern of swirling flowers in pink around the plate’s rim, then up at the spareness of the cottage.  “No, that was me.” She nibbled a biscuit. "I should do this more often."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drink tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take a chance on kind strangers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need to stay the night?" Only polite, that. And if Crowley liked the idea of another presence in the cottage, and one that felt like a supernatural security blanket at that, who was to know?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t sleep, and, wouldn’t that make you uncomfortable?” Aziraphale worried her lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale saw more than Crowley liked her too, but the thing that Crowley was currently trying to accept was that it wouldn’t actually make her uncomfortable. Not this time.  Not when she felt free to choose it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley often saw more than people would like too, and it didn’t matter how hard she looked at Aziraphale, she couldn’t see anything that made her panic.  “You can sit in here. If you'd like. I don't really need to sleep either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale lifted her eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Normally.” Crowley shrugged. “I just...feel safe right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do I.” Aziraphale looked away as she smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pause that followed was comfortable enough to sink in to. They drank their tea and let the world move on around them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why were they chasing you?” Crowley asked eventually. "If you don't mind telling me." She wanted to know, wanted to help, if she could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale licked biscuit crumbs from her fingers. Slowly, while her eyes focused on her knees. “A very long time ago I was taking my turn to guard a well. Very important, but tedious. This young man came past and he was lost. I shouldn't have let him drink, but the poor thing was so tired and afraid! The water from the well was, erm, well it was from a very special spring and, oh dear, he spent the rest of his life verging between poetic genius and madness, but, erm, that wasn’t the worst thing I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” To Crowley’s mind most people who considered themselves poetic geniuses </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> half mad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The only cup I had that he could drink out of was a chalice. It was rather special, and after he’d drunk I forgot to take it back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You what?” Crowley tried not to tease because Aziraphale looked so despondent.  Still, a cup given away in kindness seemed a terribly small sin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The sacred cup of happiness and infinite abundance and I gave it away! I couldn’t help it! He was telling me about the quest he was on and it sounded ever so exciting. You humans are all so fascinating!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley was good at appearing fascinating.  Although now in her chemise and yoga pants she didn’t consider herself a particularly enticing mystery.  “I’m sure it wasn’t the wrong thing to do. You were being kind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kindness isn’t part of my job description, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale gazed dejectedly into her tea cup. “I’m not very good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley also knew how it felt to be tangled up so tightly in a job with no obvious way out that wouldn’t cut you to the bone.   “What would you do then, if you could?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You had to be able to imagine something, after all, before you could imagine a way to make it real. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale glanced up, eyes opening wide. “No one has ever asked me that before!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then make the most of it.” Crowley smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s silly.” Aziraphale's hand fluttered dismissively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope. Don’t believe you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’d like to collect stories." A secret smile played on Aziraphale's lips. "Like those rooms you have with all the folded up paper in. Books, that’s it! And people come to look at them."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Like a library?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is that the one where they can take the stories away?" Aziraphale's enthusiasm dropped so suddenly it gave Crowley whiplash. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, yes. But if it was a bookshop you'd still have to sell them."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, no, dear, I wouldn't stand for that!" Aziraphale primly sipped her tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley bit her lip, but her smile still stretched her lips. "What stories would you collect, then?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stories about the chalice I lost. If I had a safe place to properly study them I'm sure I could find it and then the King and his court wouldn’t be so angry with me!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I could help you. I mean. It's not a bookshop, but you could read here. If you found a book you liked. One that looked promising." Crowley imagined more nights like this.  Maybe Aziraphale would read to her? Crowley had always struggled to read for herself, but she liked stories too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You do know it can be dangerous to help fairies?" Aziraphale worried her lip, big eyes fixed on Crowley's face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a fairy?” Crowley didn’t believe in fairies, which could make this awkward, but not insurmountable. It helped sometimes just to accept people as they were, and not get tied up in knots questioning labels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded.  “Just, as I’ve mentioned, not a very good one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley leaned over and touched Aziraphale’s hand.  It was cool and soft, and surprisingly solid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale shifted but didn't pull away. She smiled tightly, and said, “So, tell me about you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley knew a change of subject when she saw one.  She settled back, crossing her legs again. "I'm being chased too.” Not the cool lead in she had planned. Still very much on her mind though. "I mean, I don't think they know where I am, but they are looking. I… The woman who owned the club where I danced sometimes, Lucy, she was running some unpleasant side lines as well. I tried to leave, and when she wouldn't let me I told the police."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That was very brave." Aziraphale said softly. It was reassuring. A promise of safety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley shook her head, familiar guilt sinking its claws in. "Nah, should have done it sooner. Shouldn't have waited until it was a personal inconvenience to me. Don't go thinking I'm nice or anything."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wouldn't dream of it." Aziraphale hid her smile behind her tea cup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about the moon was that it was also the card of uncomfortable insights, of inconvenient self awareness as well.  Transformative dreaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pressure of how hard Crowley had been working to hold herself together couldn’t be ignored anymore. She gazed at the surface of her tea as though it could divine some hope for the future. It'd take time. Everyone said it would take time, but the trial didn't even have a date yet and she was so tired of carrying the weight of her fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tear hung at the end of her nose. Crowley took a deep breath and scrubbed it away. There was another ready to take its place. This was less crying than eyes leaking every time her breath tightened her chest, ribs squeezing her heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley furiously wiped at her eyes. The tears wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't they stop? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(What had crying ever solved?) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sofa creaked as Aziraphale moved closer. "Is this alright?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, unable to form words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale fingers rubbed at her back. Crowley’s limbs were weaker than they'd ever been and her resolve not far behind. "I just want to be held."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An uncomfortable insight if ever there was one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can do that." Aziraphale's arms opened and Crowley collapsed into them. She half expected Aziraphale to vanish, poof, in a cloud of moondust. Crowley's face smooshed against Aziraphale's thigh as she hunched over, shoulders shaking. Aziraphale smoothed her palm down Crowley's spine, the other curling in the hair on the back of her neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't need to solve anything. This is just the cleansing to get things started,” Aziraphale murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley hugged Aziraphale's waist tight, hid her face from the brightness and sobbed herself into lethargy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> That night Crowley slept well again.  Far better than she should have, given she was sprawled face down on the sofa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If there were any nightmares they couldn’t filter through the moonlight that fell across the sofa cushion she used as her pillow.  She woke up in the morning feeling almost positive. Soft memories of being cosetted teased her, a soothing voice in her ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just lay there, my dear, I'm going to put a blanket over you now, is that alright? You've been carrying that grief for so long. You did so well to start letting it go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley stretched and twisted. Embarrassment floated to the surface of her consciousness like scum. She'd been so weak. Beneath it though, the water was light enough to see how good it had felt, how clearer things looked now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the pleasure of being taken care of was a beautiful, terrifying thing. The blanket was still there, draped across her hips. Cream and pale blue tartan, smelling like a summer meadow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley got up and started her day.  She kept her eye on the horizon though, waiting for the sun to set and the moon to rise.  And as the moon fattened, growing sluggish and heavy with fullness a pattern formed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley would take her meds and get comfy in the hammock or on her sofa. She’d fall asleep and Aziraphale would appear soon after.  Crowley never managed to catch how she did it, no matter how still she kept, or how quiet.  Invariably Aziraphale would have a book with her, and had taken to perching a pair of spectacles on her nose as she read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley assumed they were there because Aziraphale thought that was what humans who looked like her did, rather than because she actually needed them.  Either way they were cute and sexy, and Crowley refrained from teasing in case Aziraphale stopped wearing them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'd talk and drink tea, sometimes they'd touch. Innocent brushes of fingers. It made Aziraphale smile, and Crowley's bird heart flutter faster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The books, bound in cracking leather and dusty, would always be there in the morning when Crowley woke up. She cleared space for them. Even learned how to put up a shelf, nestled in the nook beneath the staircase. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s steps lightened whenever she saw them there. She'd run her finger over the embossed spines and let herself daydream.  Occasionally she’d open one and inhale the scent of ink and paper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> There was a tiny shriveled part of Crowley’s heart that remembered being a child running through the mysteries of a deep, dark wood, and who still got excited about Christmas morning.  A part of her that knew if you closed your eyes tight then magic would be more likely to happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The majority of Crowley knew that magic needed a lot of work. And even more luck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Wishing upon stars never made a difference either. It was a hard habit to break though.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley closed her eyes tight and dared to wonder what it would be like to keep Aziraphale when the sun rose. To be brave enough to let her upstairs and into the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moon swelled towards full, and Crowley dozed in her hammock, her journal across her chest. A bird of prey cried out in the night and Crowley shifted, throwing one arm over her eyes. The other arm dangled over the hammock's side, her fingers still holding the drawing charcoal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It dropped to the grass, Crowley's fingers swaying loosely as they uncurled. The air trembled and expanded as it made way for something not of this realm. "Hello, dear." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley turned her face towards the voice. "Hello." She slithered  a bit more upright tucking her journal safely down between her hip and the hammock.  Part of her wanted Aziraphale to see it, part of her was wary of what the sketches might reveal. The last time she'd been so focused on capturing an expression was just after she'd met Queen Lucy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was not the same.  Lucy’s expression had been a secret, smug and proud. Azirapahle’s was an open one of delight. Aziraphale wasn't just using her. Crowley was not just a business opportunity to her. Lucy had never listened to Crowley the way Aziraphale did. She'd never lit up with a smile that went all the way to her eyes when she'd seen Crowley approach. And Queen Lucy would not have risked potential humiliation by trying to climb into an already occupied hammock while wearing a dress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hammock dipped under Aziraphale's weight.  "Gosh, I’ll never get used to this."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley gripped her forearm. "You're OK, just move quick."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale white knuckled the hammock's sides and hauled herself up. They swayed dangerously. Crowley reached out with her other arm to steady her. Aziraphale was already leaning forward to try and counterbalance the swing. The pair of them tumbled back into the hammock, Aziraphale's head landing on Crowley's chest, and her naked ankles kicking up into the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley was sure her heart must be rattling loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. The fairy was a comfortable armful. Warm and curvy, although very fidgety. Aziraphale shifted round, lifting her head and pushing hair back from her eyes so she could peer up at Crowley. "Sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shouldn't we be able to dream ourselves more graceful?" Crowley asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where would the fun be in that?" Aziraphale bit down on her smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did you do that on purpose?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll move if this makes you uncomfortable," Aziraphale said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No." Crowley pinched a curl of silver blonde hair between her thumb and forefinger. "I can just never believe how solid you are."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Solid!" Aziraphale twisted her face, real hurt darkening her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I mean, you're a dream, or spun from moonlight. I half expect you to vanish whenever I touch you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Humph." Aziraphale settled, a cheek resting on Crowley's chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley gently stroked Aziraphale’s hair. She missed her own sometimes. It had been beautiful and silky. She'd been able to toss it back, and flip it over her shoulders. Nightmare to blow dry though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(And now it was gone and it couldn't be used against her.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale's hair was light as clouds, gentle curls and waves. Feeling more settled, Crowley let Aziraphale's weight sink onto her and twisted her hair round her fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"May I?" Aziraphale's own fingers hovered over Crowley's thigh, between her knee and the frayed hem of her cut off shorts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley had good legs. She'd put the shorts on tonight with that in mind.  Aziraphale had noticed and that left Crowley pleased and nervous and hopeful all at once. She'd forgotten what it was like to dress for someone she liked. Properly liked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure." Her voice barely jumped at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale's touch was gentle. She used just the tips of her fingers and the rounded ends of her nails to smooth over Crowley's skin. It was just the pleasurable side of tickling. Crowley tried not to purr. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Any news on the trial?" Aziraphale asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They think September now." Crowley looked up at the shifting trails of clouds. She tried to keep her voice and heart steady. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So you will be here for the rest of Summer." Hope coloured Aziraphale's voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley shivered.  She’d been here a month nearly.  Not really very long at all, but already the pressure of staying so still, moving so slowly was beginning to itch.  And yet, her mind thought of the bookshelf beneath her stairs. Of one day taking Aziraphale’s hand and leading her up those stairs. The fantasy was silver-flecked and dark though. Crowley couldn’t imagine it in sunlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I won't hold you to it. I know you're part nomad.  I can appreciate the attraction,” Aziraphale said, quiet and quick. “Not to be tethered to one point, one way of thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's one of the reasons I liked the sex work. Varied. I could move around if I wanted." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did you enjoy it?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Crowley was accomplished  at reading people and knowing what they wanted, especially when they were too afraid or ashamed to tell her. So with this in mind she could tell that wasn’t quite what Aziraphale wanted to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley scratched Aziraphale’s scalp. "You can ask me anything, you know that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Have you ever been in love?" A sorrow drew down the lines of Aziraphale’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley wondered how many nights like this Aziraphale had spent with other people. She wondered about the young man at the well and found that it didn’t matter. Not when Aziraphale was here with her now. That was love, wasn’t it? Acceptance of past and present. Everything and everyone that had made a person who they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley closed her eyes, just feeling her pain for a moment. "No, I thought I had, but no. That wasn't love. How about you?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love shouldn’t hold so tight. Shouldn’t cover your mouth, your ears, your nose, your eyes, until you were suffocating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I can't fall in love." Aziraphale said dismissively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’d like to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence waited. Crowley waited with it.  She understood the power of a good silence.  Her fingers played with Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale’s palm ran up and down Corlwey’s thigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can't risk it,” Aziraphale whispered.  “I...I thought it would help me understand humans more, that’s all. Which would help me find the chalice. That’s what I told His Majesty, but he already thought I spent too much time messing about with the natives. Lowering myself by eating your food and reading your stories, but all your stories are about love. It’s one of the things that can lift you all up to the skies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or leave us sobbing in the dirt.  “It can be an experience,” Crowley agreed.  And there had been days with Lucy when she’d been walking on air.  The higher she’d been just meant the further she’d had to fall though. And there was no knowing what would change Lucy's rules. Crowley had never been good at following rules at the best of times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want love?” That’s ok. We all want love. The sort that accepts all of us.” Or the illusion of it at least. Crowley had done well selling that, done not so well being immune to the hustle herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had wanted it though.  Still wanted it.  She wouldn’t be here now, so sunk in a dream, if she didn’t hope that kind of love still existed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t want it.” Aziraphale’s voice was weak. “The honour of belonging to my Court should be enough. That they forgave my indiscretion. Were willing to give me another chance with only m..m..minimal punishment. I mean, what's three nights out of twenty-eight? But it's so difficult to please them. I try, but I never fit. Even if I could find the missing chalice I don't think they'd accept me now. Not really."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley didn't let her hand freeze in Aziraphale's hair, tried not to shake her and demand to know what had been done to her. She shushed her instead, kept petting her. “You burn out. It’s ok. The pressure and the anxiety, and the self doubt. You need to top up your energy levels. It’s ok to need that time out for yourself.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale sat up, hands over her face. “Stupid, frivolous, thing.  Always been so watery. I shouldn't want to be loved so badly, or to love someone else. I don't deserve it. I feel like needing it is a further punishment for the broken parts of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley would have bet money those words had originated with His Majesty.  She hoped he’d been the dog that had got the business end of her shovel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You aren't broken.” Crowley put sincerity and firmness into her voice. She placed a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale jerked away, setting the hammock swinging as she turned her head. "How do you know? You don't know me! You can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm learning. I want to learn." And Crowley wanted to show too. If Aziraphale was willing to look. "If they're hurting you…" And what could she do? Little lost human against something so other? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale glanced back at Crowley, tears pooling in her eyes. "I shouldn't have come. The moon will wane and then...then you’ll see. I can’t let you see. I can't. I'm sorry." A tear trickled down her cheek. "I never meant to stay so long with you, but you were so kind to me. I'm sorry."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley reached for Aziraphale's face, but her fingers passed through the fairy's jaw as she faded. The ghostly imprint of Aziraphale's frown hung in the air, and then she was gone leaving only the tang of sorrow behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley laid out a pot of tea and a slice of cake every night for a week. Aziraphale didn't come back.  Crowley's dreams did. Creeping insidiously over the grass with the lengthening shadows. The moon shrivelled from fat to a waning quarter.  The drugs were no longer working so Crowley stopped taking them.  Dr Pulsifer spoke to her gently and listened even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He prescribed new drugs, but Crowley hadn't yet found the heart to take those either. Not if Aziraphale wouldn't be waiting for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead she sat on the sofa wrapped in a tartan blanket, tarot cards spread out in a fan over the table. She journalled, reorganised her savings and began to research online college courses and job training programmes.  Crowley could move on, she could save herself from this. That’s a lesson you learn early on the streets. Save yourself. No one will do it for you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley had her journal open on her knees, frantically illustrating her way through future options when the knock sounded on her door.  Her heart nearly burst from her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another rapping on the front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The skin on the back of Crowley's neck tingled as every hair trembled to attention. She froze on the sofa. Chest jumping as her breath shortened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knocking on the back door too. She whirled round, heart struggling to beat against the fear. The air was soupy, pressing down against her limbs. She raised her hands to her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"AJ?" Ligur's voice. Deep and calm. "Come talk to us, baby."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(They'd found her. What bread crumbs had she dropped? Which shoe on which stair?) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just some questions. Can't blame us for being worried when you left so sudden." Hastur, his voice warbling with mirth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s phone was on the kitchen counter. It was centuries away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just had to move. Just move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Footsteps on the gravel path outside. Gentle. Methodical. Crowley glanced at the kitchen window, curtains pulled back to let in the slither of light from the waning moon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was exposed on the sofa. They'd see her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A new kind of terror, sharp enough to rip, sliced through Crowley's guts. She dove for her phone, then slid to the floor, crawling desperately so she could tuck herself in a corner away from the kitchen window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had made herself remember DS Device's number by heart. Still, it took her three goes to dial it right, her fingers shook so hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shadow fell across the kitchen table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastur's wild hair was silhouetted by the moon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley tucked herself away tighter, shoulder blades carving at the kitchen unit behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Come on AJ. No need to be coy, baby."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You never were shy." The back door handle rattled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley hit call. It rang. It rang. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley was sure they could hear her forcing air in and out of her lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"This is Device…." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley sobbed, knuckles pressed to her lips.  She made words form. No idea which ones. Just help, help. Each one a broken triumph through the tears closing up her throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley?” DS Device asked her questions. Assured she was on her way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastur's shadow hand splayed against the window glass. The catch shuddered as he tested it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley closed her eyes, phone clasped to her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weight of the air thrummed.  It was something that Crowley had never felt before when she was awake.  Crowley opened her eyes to an empty kitchen.  A presence tightened the air around her, until it quivered in the moonlight. Like a shimmer on too hot tarmac.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The short hair curled over Crowley’s ear stirred.  “Shhh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley nearly laughed with relief, nearly screamed for Aziraphale to flee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s presence no longer felt safe. It coiled about Crowley, inside her, opening her mind and heart like too ripe fruit. Everything the Dukes had ever done to her breaking through the doors in her head that she’d built to compartmentalize them.  Every lie that she’d unlearned about herself and why it had happened to her worming its way back to truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The window jiggled again, then stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastur's shadow lengthened, growing thin and taut as he stepped back. "She's not here. Sure this is even the right place? Thought the opportunist would hold out for somewhere sleeker. This doesn’t feel right.” He sounded unsure, voice higher than normal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was the address I was given." Ligur sounded defensive, but uncertainty had crept in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You need to be more discerning with your sources."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Violet eyed tosser."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The footsteps faded.  So did Crowley’s nightmares. Time began to get back up to normal speed.  There was still something distinctly Aziraphale about the atmosphere in the kitchen.  Nervous, unsure. Hopeful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What did you do?" Crowley asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I made them go away.” Aziraphale’s voice echoed. Half in Crowley’s head, half in the kitchen. “Was I wrong?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had Aziraphale been in their heads too? Bending their thoughts and feelings out of shape? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. She was so relieved that they'd gone though. So relieved her eyes leaked again. Twin salty tracks down to her chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale faded back into the shadows. Crowley stayed huddled in the kitchen until a car engine roared on the road outside and headlights drowned out the moonlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Waning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley slept with an unmarked police car across the street.  When she did sleep anyway.  She’d spoken to Dr Pulsifer about her meds, and tried not to worry that she wasn’t speaking to Dr Pulsifer about other things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been the </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve met someone conversation</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>now they've left, again</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation.  It was complicated. Although Crowley couldn’t quite find words for the extent of complicated that she was dealing with. Dr Pulsifer was patient, if pointed in his questions, but full of encouragement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was exhausted after a session with him so she stretched out on her sofa and tried to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Doors locked. Windows barred.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shattered tea cups littered her kitchen floor.  It had been two nights now, and Aziraphale hadn’t appeared, although Crowley caught glimpses of particles of matter swirling in beams of moonlight. She glared at them, shouted at the weighty presence they held. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn't just your decision </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>we could run away together. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was good at running away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first time she'd wanted someone to come with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And Aziraphale's hair was long enough and strong enough to take the weight of them both.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'll go by myself then, and I won't even think of you at all! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was exhausted. She closed her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And opened them.  The kitchen door was open.  Looking at it made her head hurt.  She clambered up, disorientated and dizzy.  The shovel was still in the back porch.  She picked it up and stepped into the moonlight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man stood on the other side of the hedge. He wore a pale suit and purple tie. He smiled at Crowley, all fake charm and faux friendliness.  He was the sort of client that would have made Crowley hit the alert on her safety app.  And that was before she’d even considered the fact that he wasn’t a man.  That he wasn’t really a dog. No, he wasn’t a dog. If Crowley looked closely she saw the keen, far seeing distance in his eyes, the wind lifting his feathers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was sure he was both the hawk and the violet eyed tosser Ligur had mentioned, and now she hated him on her own behalf as well as Aziraphale’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You responsible for that?” Crowley gestured to her open back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not without considerable exertion,” His Majesty said, as though Crowley locking people out of her house was an affront to him. “But I couldn’t come in to you, so you had to come to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spread his palms. “I’m here to do you a favour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(They give nothing for free. There is always a deal to be struck. A bargain to be made.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Crowley leaned on her shovel and raised her eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t the first time our Aziraphale has done this. It's not personal. She’s always been fascinated with humans and they've always been fascinated with her, quite often until it's too late. Sometimes they go mad. Sometimes...well, it’s worse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in my dream garden talking to a dream man about my dream ex-girlfriend. Bold of you to assume I’m not mad already.” Crowley bared her teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His laugh was indulgent. “She’s not your girlfriend. She never was your girlfriend and she is never going to be your girlfriend.” His smile mask broadened.  “The lady herself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Majesty!” Aziraphale wasn't there, and then she was, fading in from the scenery on the far side of the garden hedge.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good to see you, sweetheart. Why don't you tell your </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly what's going to happen to you in about…" he glanced up at the waning moon. "twenty four hours time." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale's fists clenched and her body shook. "She's not my girlfriend. We barely know each other." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light began to dim. His Majesty's face was focused, brows drawn in concentration as he stared Aziraphale down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air around Aziraphale flinched.  She stepped back. "Majesty, please, don't. It’s not time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The King loomed over her, seeming taller than he had a moment before. "This obsession with the human world, being so close to what you can't have, what you can never be. It feeds your sickness." He turned to Crowley. "If you loved her you'd let her go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If being with you was truly what she wanted then I would,” Crowley replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was Aziraphale even out there? Why hadn't she come into the garden where it was safe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll let her go anyway. Those that make it this far always do. You going to give her a taste, sweetheart?"  His Majesty took another step forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azirapahle was in his shadow now. Her jaw clenched. The hem of her dress and her sleeves fluttered. The light didn't hit her quite right, as though it wasn't sure where to, as though Aziraphale's appearance was no longer fixed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked like she was trying not to become something else, or several something elses. There were silhouettes of feathers behind her shoulders and her face rippled with tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get lost," Crowley snarled at the king. "You aren't welcome in my head."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This isn't just your dream," His Majesty retorted. "Come on, sweetheart, show the bone bag what you are."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stop it!" Aziraphale gasped.  She sunk slowly to the ground, skirts billowing out around her. The air rippled with dry heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing to her?" Crowley moved to the gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Showing you what she is. You'll thank me for it." His Majesty said. "There was once a young girl. Prettier than you.” He gestured at Crowley, his eyes stayed on Aziraphale.  “She hid a fleeing hare in her skirts to protect her from hunting dogs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Aziraphale said weakly. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Poor, little virgin. Did a good deed. Thought she was in love. You know what happened to her?” His Majesty continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shook, hands clenched in the grass as her body shivered out of her control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Found dead. Ripped apart by wild animals they said. How do you think that came about? Azirapahle? Want to share with the class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sobbed, her head falling forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I’m not a virgin.” Sickness coiled in Crowley’s stomach. She'd seen this with the worst type of pimps. With Lucy. The slow methodical dismantling of worth until you believe you're nothing but a commodity, and whatever happens to you was deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s why Crowley had always been free lance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right up until the end, when she thought she'd been in love instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley opened the gate. She stepped out into the field and swung the shovel at the fairy king's head. He turned, catching the shaft as it came down.  He twisted it from Crowley's hand and threw it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed Crowley's wrist before she could run to Aziraphale.  His grip burned like ice cold iron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm trying to help you.” He snarled. “Both of you. You're only going to disappoint each other." He looked back at Aziraphale. "Just like you've constantly disappointed us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The King faded away into the shadows. Crowley ran to Aziraphale's side, getting a shoulder under her arm to lift her up. Her body had settled back into the curves that Crowley was familiar with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm alright." Aziraphale struggled to get away. "I'm sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dug in her heels as they approached Crowley's gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on," Crowley insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No I can't. Don't let me in again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not leaving you out here alone.” Crowley snapped in frustration. “If you don't come in, I'll stay out here with you and that means they can get me too I guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sagged against Crowley, allowing herself to be led into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It may not have been entirely Crowley's dream, but this was entirely her house so there was a pot of freshly brewed tea on the coffee table. She settled Aziraphale under the blanket and poured her a cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you. I'm sorry."  Aziraphale’s hands shook around the mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knew hurts like these. The ones on the outside, the ones that you could see, healed eventually. The ones on the inside, well, you can never be sure they've really gone.  She reached out and found her tarot cards, even though her conscious brain knew they were upstairs on the bedside table.  They slid into her hand easy enough though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were a comforting weight. Folding back the scarf and shuffling gave Crowley something to do with her hands. Thinking of Tracy's unyielding compassion and resolve helped too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pick a card." Crowley laid them down before Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s eyes brightened in her stark face. "Magic tricks?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!” Tracy would be horrified. “But, it helps me think."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale plucked a card from the deck and placed it face down on the table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A single turret atop a jagged rock. Lightning piercing a stormy sky, blowing the tower's top clean off. People, limbs splayed and mouths gaping, free falling to the unforgiving ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Destruction of material objects or property. Or a way of thinking. Your subconscious has built you a prison, but the lightning sets you free."  Crowley scratched at her wrist. Not a bad card. None of them were truly bad, they were just cardboard after all.  Challenging to work with though. Difficult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's so much easier to destroy than to create.” Aziraphale sipped her tea slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The trick is surviving the lightning. If you can then there's new beginnings on the other side. What was His High and Mighty Bastardness doing to you?"  Crowley leaned forward, elbow resting on her knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd rather not talk about it." Aziraphale looked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley ground her teeth. How could she help Azirapahle if Aziraphale wouldn’t let her? "Then I will. You're tied to the moon. And it's dark tomorrow. What does that mean?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Crowley, it doesn't matter. You won't survive the lightning. And, and, if you don't then I won't either. I couldn't stand it." Aziraphale sniffed, hiding behind her tea cup again.  She sighed and put it down. “I need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go!” Her voice was resonant, rolling around the cottage’s dream shadowed walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright. Before you do." Crowley flicked through her journal. The sketch of Aziraphale she'd been working on showed her leaning back in the hammock.  Crowley was sure she had her smile right in this one. Her true smile. Not the one that was embarrassed, or the one that was nervous, or the one she tried to hide when she was amused and being a bastard. The true smile. Aziraphale looked content in Crowley's drawing. She looked happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Crowley could think too hard she ripped the page out and handed it to Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s eyes widened as she smoothed it out. " Is that how you see me? I'm not beautiful, you're beautiful."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knew she was beautiful. She would never have made the money she had if a great number of people didn’t think she was beautiful. She’d been told it in the middle of a job half the time. Sexy, beautiful, gorgeous.  She knew it well enough, but being told it by Aziraphale, who wore that look of wonder everytime Crowley was in the room, well, that nearly made her start to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you for this.” Aziraphale clutched the paper to her chest. “But I can't do this anymore. I won't see you tomorrow and I won't be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned away, swallowing down her anger, her hurt.  “Fine. Whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn't look back. She didn't want to see Aziraphale fade away. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The first night of the dark moon Crowley didn't even think about sleeping. Still, she woke up on the sofa with a crick in her neck and some shopping channel blaring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Do not sleep or slumber. Stay alive until morning.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was twitchy in her too tight skin. Crowley dragged out a deck chair and waited in the garden, biting her nails, waiting for Hastur and Ligur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Of course they would come tonight. Violet eyed tosser. Tear down the hemp stalks. Carry off the little girl.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn't stomach the idea of them seeing her like this. Which was ridiculous because the two ghouls had seen her in every way imaginable. The idea of them seeing her so close to being whole again though, so close to being free, and the fact that they might see her face when they took it all away was too hard to bear.  Crowley went back inside. She locked the doors, she drew the curtains. Sat down, cross legged on the sofa with her shovel across her knees and waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They came at midnight. Of course they did. The crunch of matching footsteps on the gravel path. Crowley ran her palms over the shovel, made her grip sure. Her breathing twitched, fast and high. Silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d imagined it then. It was late and she was paranoid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen door handle shook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“AJ? Come on out baby, be easier for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(They’ll huff, and they’ll puff)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley breathed in slowly through her nose. Out through her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley continued to breathe. Her hands twisted on the shovel handle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen door groaned, jumping in it’s frame. Crowley scrambled up, nearly falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shuddered again. And Again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time her phone was by her knee. Device didn't answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door stopped shaking. More silence. The silence was worse. Crowley crept forward. Just one step at a time.  She heard the grating of a metal pick in the old lock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen door clicked. It burst open. Crowley froze. Hastur’s black eyes shone in the dark. His lips pulled back over his teeth.  She dropped the shovel and ran. Get the front door open. If she screamed the policemen outside would hear her. Her fingers were sweat-slick on the latch. They fumbled as she turned the lock.  Crowley hauled the door open and flung herself into the front garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Ligur stood on the path. He turned. White teeth flashed in his smile and he opened his arms.  Crowley skidded to a halt.  She filled her lungs with air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The princess screamed and the town woke up.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Hastur got an arm round her waist. His big hand clapped over her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn't breathe. Their hands groped at her waist, her thighs, as her struggles lifted her off the ground. She kicked and twisted.  Still they travelled backwards, away from the street, away from help and into the darkness of the cottage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door slammed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley thrashed, a high pitched whine escaping her throat through her choking sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ligur’s fist caught her cheek. Pain burst in rainbow colours behind her lids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room went black. Had she passed out? Crowley's terrified senses still throbbed and pulsed.  They told her there was something else in the room.  Something old. Something angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bruising grips on her body eased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Power cut," Ligur said. "Street lights must have gone out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," said Hastur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them sounded convinced. Neither of them moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness was impenetrable. A faint shift in the air. A presence forming around them, huge and encompassing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ragged breathing of the three mortals filled the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the faint click of claws on the kitchen floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastur's fingers dug into the meat of Crowley's arm. Ligur had let her go. His footsteps moved across the flagstones, muffling when they reached the living room rug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something snarled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ligur’s footsteps didn't start again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ligur!" Hastur's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Ligur!" More frantic now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tried to twist away. Hastur scrabbled for purchase on her, one hand tightening round her waist the other gripping the back of her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She screamed as Hastur pushed her forward into the wall, the weight of him pressing against her back. The nightmares surged forward like worms. The helpless terror, the unspooling despair of the aftermath. Crowley was ready for it. She didn't resist. She let it all wash through her and around her.  It wasn’t her. Not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley closed her eyes, putting herself away from her body. Focusing on the sounds beyond the room, beyond the panting breath in her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An owl shrieked. Feather’s brushed Crowley’s cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought she passed out, cheek against the cool brick.  Hastur was gone when she allowed herself to be aware again.  Her palms were still splayed against the wall as the light from the street came back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door was locked again. Her cottage was empty. On shaking legs Crowley made herself check every room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the policemen were asleep in the car. The heavy, stuporous sleep of the drugged.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley went back inside to look around again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(No monsters under the bed. No portals in the wardrobe.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no sign of Hastur and Ligur. She knew they weren't coming back. She knew, given time she would be able to forget them altogether. Shaking, Crowley took more sleeping pills and went outside with a glass of water. She looked at the moonless sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aziraphale,” she whispered. “what did you do?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no answer. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah, thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The second night of the dark moon saw Crowley in the garden. She had taken more sleeping pills earlier in the evening and had wrapped a red wool shawl over short silk pyjamas.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale did not appear.  She did not appear the next night either, but Crowley dreamed she heard dogs howling in the distance.  The church bells tolled their mournful music across the fields.  Crowley stood at the back door in her red shawl and her wellies and looked at the church through the first drops of what would be a gentle summer rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the sky above a hawk circled across the moonless sky, looping it’s way towards the spire.  It called out to her, shrill and mocking </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you, your majesty.” Crowley muttered, but she went anyway.  She sellotaped a vegetable knife inside her right welly and shouldered her shovel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Crowley stepped outside again the raindrops fizzed on her cheeks and dissolved. It wasn't falling, but suspended between the earth and the sky like a tapestry of glittering diamonds. The leaves in the hedgerows didn't move as Crowley crossed the fields. Everything was weighed down with stillness and silence. She swung her leg over the style and jumped into the churchyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dry grass crunched beneath her feet as Crowley approached the church. The big oak doors gaped open revealing a shadowed maw in the already dark porch. Crowley took her shovel down from her shoulder and wove carefully between the grave stones towards it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A squirrel sat at the base of a yew tree, tiny hands by its nose, frozen halfway through cleaning it's whiskers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a long time since Crowley had set foot in a church. She took a deep breath and stepped on to the cold, dark stone of the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No judgement fell on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slid through the door, taking care that it would stay open.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale knelt at the end of the aisle, before the altar. Her pale skirts spread over her knees and her hair covering her face. The huge multi coloured stained glass window towered above her. Her eyes were stretched with fear as she glanced up at the sound of Crowley’s echoing steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley halted at the desolation in Aziraphale’s expression.  Her skin was ash white. Crowley didn't run, but walked carefully towards her. Aziraphale twisted round, her wrists were chained to a large nail hammered into the floor behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go away Crowley!" she hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Going to get you out of here." Crowley's steps quickened until she could drop to her knees next to Aziraphale. The shovel clattered to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale's eyes were red and puffy, her lip trembling. "Please, go away, Crowley."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shook her head, her fingers plucked at the chains, but there was no break in them, no lock. She hissed in anger, her stomach curdling at the red rubbed onto Aziraphale's wrists where the metal had bitten her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't get out. I've tried. You have to go now." Aziraphale wriggled in a valiant attempt to glare at Crowley over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who did this to you. Was it the dogs?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale drew back, shrinking into herself. Her body trembled. "Oh my dear, I’ve told you, they're not dogs."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claws tapped and clicked on the stone floor of the church. Crowley spun round. The three creatures that weren't dogs, and the one that wasn’t a hawk, closed in on them from each direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked on two legs, dressed in their shades of white, but their eyes remained animal and their teeth were sharp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fairies in a church?” Crowley said. “Unlikely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? We aren’t demons.” His Majesty spread out his hands. “And this land was many things before the church was built.  There’s a spring way down deep beneath the altar. Did Azirapahle tell you about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, turning as she tried to keep her eye on four enemies at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've been taking bets on whether you'd come tonight or not." His Majesty smiled. "Uriel said you would."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uriel,  the creature to Crowley's left drew back her dark lips in a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not leaving here without Aziraphale." Crowley stood up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, we did hope you'd say that," added the creature with the gold tooth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not enough to have come here," Uriel said. "You have to stay. For all of it. To the end."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's what you want, isn't it, Aziraphale? You want this human to stay with you? And you want to stay with her, be like her? Honestly, it's no great loss to us. It's a question of whether or not she'll still want you after she sees what you really are?"  His Majesty clasped his hands in front of him, his face pitying. “If she doesn’t, then you’re ours again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I'll want her. I love her." It was a dream. Crowley could say it in a dream. She could dare to mean it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fourth creature, the one with floating sleeves and rich brown hair piled on top of her head laughed. The others joined her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think true love conquers all,” the brown haired creature said. “You think you still have what it takes to be the heroine in this story? You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Do you have what it takes to walk over broken glass on newly made legs? And if it all goes wrong, would it be so bad to be seafoam?) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stepped back like she'd been slapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And her." His Majesty pointed a finger at Aziraphale. "Filling herself with gross matter, play acting at humanity like she didn't destroy those men that came to your house. Completely unmade them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley knew about that. A memory of a memory of a midnight terror. Monsters under her bed. They were gone now. She didn’t want to think about whether or not that had been fair or right. Aziraphale had done it, and Crowley could cry with gratitude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do I have to do?" Crowley asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(They give nothing for free. There is always a deal to be struck. A bargain to be made.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature with the gold tooth stepped forward, crouching at Azirpahale’s back.  The chains clattered free, but when he stepped back Aziraphale stayed on the ground, head bowed and hiding behind her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a trap,” Aziraphale sobbed. “The last girl…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature with the gold tooth got a hand in Aziraphale’s hair, pulling her head back so he could squeeze her chin and stop her mouth. “Don’t spoil the story,” he growled wetly in her ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mad begging panic in Aziraphale’s eyes kept Crowley still, but she clenched her fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You must hold on, until dawn." His Majesty said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Stay alive until dawn.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And if I don't?" Crowley asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then, well, we won't trouble you ever again. Nothing will trouble you ever again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A virgin in the snow, ripped apart by wild animals. Crowley swallowed. She wasn’t a virgin. She bent slowly, her mind a fog and her limbs slow, and picked up her shovel.  "And Aziraphale?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A new twist to the tale. But really, this whole curse is becoming bothersome.” His Majesty shook his head. “We’ve decided that she'll have vanished too. Moon dust in the dawn."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley glanced up. How hot would the midsummer sun be coming through all that coloured glass?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley dropped to her knees before Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned away. “Please leave. I want you to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I have to try.” Crowley threw one arm around Aziraphale's neck. Buried her face in her hair and held on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The church sunk into darkness. Didn’t matter. There were monsters everywhere. Sometimes they were you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes they were the one you loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley held on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stood in a forest. Deep, rich, quiet. The gnarled branches were bleach white, twisted and knotted over her head. There was no moon in the sky and the ground cracked below Crowley's boots like dry bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Stay on the path.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley began to walk. One direction really seemed as good as another. Her lungs were chilled by the cold and her breath hung in the air. She hugged her ribs, pushing her hands under her arms and walked faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The growl was soft. It trickled down Crowley's spine leaving ice on her skin. She closed her eyes. Turned carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could disassociate from this. This wasn't real. No matter how real it felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of poisonous green eyes emerged from the tattered undergrowth of the forest floor. Crowley remembered her shovel and with dreamlike certainty found it in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bracken shivered. There was no wind. The owner of the eyes moved. A black snout slipped into view, jagged teeth stark and tinged with yellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley widened her stance. Lifted the shovel. The creature jumped. It's fur was silver-white. Eyes wide and afraid.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley threw the shovel away, opened her arms.  The wolf hit her chest. Crowley fell back, winded. She had the creature by the ruff, wrestling its head to keep it at arms length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claws ripped down her thigh.  The pain burned. Crowley held tighter. "It's alright," she gasped in the wolf's ear. "We're still friends. We're still friends."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spread jaws were inches from her face. Hot breath and the sticky mess of  saliva. Crowley's arms were dragged back and forth as the wolf shook her head. Crowley's heels drummed the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The acid eyes locked with hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Won't get rid of me this easy,” Crowley gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wolf vanished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Be bold,)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley collapsed back on the ground. "Take more than that to scare me away, Aziraphale!" she panted at the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words echoed round the empty forest. Crowley rolled to her knees, hefting herself eventually to her feet. Blood oozed down her thigh. Crowley still managed to toe the shovel into the bracken. If she picked it up again she might give into the temptation to use it. She pulled the knife from her boot and threw that away too. Her skin was cold and her nerves jittery.  Crowley limped a few steps down the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shriek pierced the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley whipped round just as talons caught the side of her face. She bent double, heart thudding frantically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The right side of her face stung as she stood up. "I'm still here! I'm not afraid of you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wings beat the air. The owl was huge. A thick black shadow soaring down towards her. Crowley was ready this time. She grabbed the legs as it came close to strike again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl screeched, wide wings beating backwards as it tried to escape. Crowley threw her weight back but was still dragged along the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not letting go." The words were raw, said more for herself than Aziraphale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley's damaged leg gave. She lost grip with one hand. The owl's beak snapped at her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley clutched at its wing. "I'm not letting go!" Crowley roared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owl vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Be bold,) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sunk to her knees. Fingers splayed in the dirt and head hanging forward. "I'm not letting go." She sucked in air then lifted her head. "You think I don't know what you're doing? I know how to push people away too. And you're an amateur! I see you! I'm not you letting go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What little light there was in the forest disappeared. Like an ethereal light switch had been flipped off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness was inky. Thick and probing. Crowley screwed up her eyes, covering her ears and closing her mouth so it couldn't work it's way in. So she had time to think. Time to prepare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale's presence pressed against her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything else had just been foreplay. This was what was real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley opened her eyes. "Not letting go." She pushed out her arms, tangling her fingers in the dark and welcoming it towards her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nowhere to hide. The dark was all consuming. Every bad decision, every stupid decision. All the time wasted on hate and envy. The spirals of self loathing that had constricted her after a bad client. After Hastur and Ligur. And that she'd done it willingly because Lucy had smiled at her, stroked her hair and asked nicely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears tightened Crowley’s skin. There was nothing to be done. Crowley felt it all. It was awful, but not surprising. She knew what she was, what a fool she'd been in her twenties sometimes. She also knew how hard she'd worked to get her head straight in her early thirties. How she was still working on it. How she wasn't going to stop now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My turn now." Crowley looked outside herself. She felt the threads pulsing and shivering in the dark. The chasm of loneliness that the dark held. The fear that went straight to Aziraphale's bones, and the anxieties webbing themselves through her consciousness, so light they were hardly noticeable. Too soft, too lazy, too silly. Not like us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The jagged, bleeding pain of love rejected. Over and over because you were too much, or too little. Or didn't meet ever changing, unspoken standards you were never aware of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bubbling anger, and the terror of the hurt caused should she lash out. The lives unmade when she had succumbed to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're enough for me." Crowley said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale twisted, trying to pull away.  Crowley tried to hold on.  And the tighter she held the more the darkness writhed and bucked with fear.  Azirpahale was slipping away, one curling wisp of regret at a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love shouldn’t be suffocating. Shouldn’t pin you down. It should lift you up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I enough for you?” Crowley swallowed. "Thing is, I'm not letting go. Unless you want me to. Your King is wrong, about so many things, actually. I love you, but you need to love me too otherwise this is not going to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness flickered and sighed. It shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to let go,” Crowley said. “Up to you what happens next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled her arms back to her sides, turned her face away.  Something roared, a silent rush of loss and pain. The ground beneath Crowley was gone. Gravity dragged at her legs. True, primordial terror swelled in her as she began to uncoil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand grabbed her shoulder. Another found the back of her head. Sobbing, Crowley reached out. She found fluffy hair against her palm, traced the shape of a scalp. There was the silkiness of night-silk robes beneath her finger tips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale's tear-drenched cheeks.  Aziraphale's lips trembled beneath the pad of Crowley's thumb. Her breath was so shallow it was barely there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley held Aziraphale's chin. The fairy grew more solid by the minute. Darkness lifting to grey, uncurling at the edges to show shapes and textures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled. "Hello, there." She shifted closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale held Crowley’s shoulder tighter, fingers stroking the back of her neck. She leaned in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips touched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley woke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" She moved so fast she nearly toppled out of the hammock. The morning sun was over the horizon, bathing the world in pale pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley swung herself to the ground. Still in her red shawl and barefoot, she ran out of the gate and across the meadow. She threw herself over the style and into the church.  Her feet pricked from the burn of dried grass, but the space before the altar, dancing with coloured light, was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An early morning flower arranger gasped at the intrusion. Crowley spun round and left, the heavy doors banging behind her.  The gravestones sprawled higgedly piggedly beneath the yew trees.  The darkness there was cool and deep.  Crowley ran through the graveyard, pulse spiking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A swathe of naked back lay between the grave stones beneath a particularly monstrous tree. A cloud of pale hair spread across the shadowed grass.  Crowley landed on her knees with a thump. Her hands touched solid flesh. Checking it over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stirred, arms dragging forward and pushing her torso up. Aziraphale’s eyes were dark hazel, maybe green. Crowley swallowed down a cry. She had the rest of her life to figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Aziraphale moved her eyes changed again, turning near blue in the sunlight filtering through the branches. The warmth of it spilled across her face highlighting the pink of her lips and cheeks.   She laughed, clutching her hands to her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took off her shawl, throwing it over Aziraphale's shoulders, leaving her arms there so she could hold Aziraphale tight.  She rejoiced in the realness of her weight and heat, the all too human scent of morning laced with book dust and summer meadows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You made your choice. I’m not letting go now,” Crowley sobbed into her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, my dear.” Aziraphale’s arms encircled her waist, holding tight. “And neither am I.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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